Hopper burst into the house, his boots thudding heavily against the floor, a shotgun clutched tightly in his hands. His face was grim, his eyes sharp as they swept over the room. "Away from the windows!" he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. The kids scrambled back, their movements quick and frantic, fear flickering in their wide eyes.
The atmosphere shifted immediately, the tension tightening like a noose around everyone in the room. Hopper's gaze landed on the older kids, his voice steady but urgent. "Can anyone use one of these?" He held up the shotgun, its weight and purpose unmistakable.
Nancy stepped forward without hesitation, her face pale but resolute. "I can," she said, her voice steady, though her knuckles whitened as she took the weapon from him. Her hands adjusted on the shotgun with practiced ease and she pointed the barrel at the entryway, as if daring something to come through.
Dove tightened her grip on the aluminum bat in her hands, her palms slick with sweat. Beside her, Steve stood tall, raising his spiked bat, his jaw set with determination. Hopper moved to stand between them, his machine gun at the ready, the weapon aimed at the door with a deadly precision.
The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick and oppressive, every second stretching into an eternity. Then, the low growls began—deep and guttural, vibrating through the walls. Dove's stomach twisted, her heart hammering in her chest as the sound crept closer, louder, more insistent. The rustling of leaves outside the kitchen window made her flinch, her grip on the bat tightening.
A loud thud reverberated through the house, the noise coming from somewhere along the side of it. Everyone whipped around, their eyes darting toward the source. "What are they doing?" Nancy whispered, her voice taut, her gaze flicking nervously toward the kitchen window.
No one had a chance to answer. A sharp snarl erupted from the front of the house, followed by the sound of something heavy scraping against the siding. The growls morphed into a cacophony of screeches and groans, the sounds surrounding them, pressing in from every direction.
There was a loud crunch, like a wooden board being broken and the screeching stopped, the abrupt silence louder than the chaos before it. Everyone froze, the room filled only with the sound of their own ragged breathing. The stillness was suffocating, a moment stretched to its breaking point.
Dove barely had time to process the eerie silence before the window to her left exploded in a violent crash. Shards of glass rained down as a demodog burst through the shattered frame, its hulking, wet form landing at her feet with a sickening thud. The sheer force of the creature's entrance sent her stumbling backward, her breath caught in her throat. She tripped over the edge of the coffee table, landing hard on the couch behind her, the aluminum bat slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor.
Hopper was the first to react. He stepped forward, his machine gun raised, the barrel trained squarely on the unmoving beast. His finger hovered over the trigger, his entire body tense, ready for the slightest sign of movement.
The others stood frozen in place, their wide eyes fixed on the creature. No one dared to breathe.
"Holy shit," Dustin whispered, his voice breaking the suffocating silence.
Max's voice trembled as she asked, "Is it dead?"
Hopper didn't respond right away. He took a cautious step closer, his boots crunching over the glass. The demodog lay eerily still, its mottled flesh glistening under the faint light. He extended his boot, prodding the creature's side with deliberate caution.
It didn't move.
Slowly, Hopper lowered his gun, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. The group collectively exhaled, but the relief was short-lived.
A long, agonizing creak broke through the quiet as the front door swung open. The sound snapped everyone's attention, adrenaline surging anew. Dove scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding wildly as she spun toward the doorway.
A figure stepped inside, framed by the night. She was young—no older than Dustin—with dark, slicked-back hair and a self-assured posture that felt out of place amidst the chaos. Her clothes, a vintage leather jacket and worn jeans, gave her the air of a 1950s greaser, but it was her sharp, alert eyes that struck Dove most.
A thin line of blood trailed down from her nose, stark against her pale skin, slowly dripping toward her upper lip. She stood in silence, surveying the room with a calm intensity that only deepened the surrealness of the moment.
Mike's face went pale with recognition as he stepped forward, his eyes wide in disbelief. "El.." he whispered, his voice barely audible, full of awe.
"Mike," the girl replied, her tone soft but steady. Without hesitation, the two embraced, holding each other tightly as if the world had fallen away.
When they pulled apart, Mike's voice cracked as he spoke. "I never gave up on you. I called you every night. Every night for—"
"353 days," Eleven said, cutting him off with a quiet certainty. "I heard."
Mike blinked, surprise washing over his face. "Why didn't you tell me you were there? That you were okay?"
"Because I wouldn't let her," Hopper's gruff voice came from behind, and Mike turned to face him, his expression shifting from relief to confusion. Hopper took a step toward Eleven, a mixture of relief and frustration in his tone. "The hell is this? Where have you been?"
"Where have you been?" Eleven shot back, her voice sharp. Before anyone could react, Hopper pulled her into a fierce hug, holding her close like a father reunited with a lost child.
"You've been hiding her," Mike said, his voice rising, disbelief turning to accusation. "You've been hiding her this whole time!" He shoved Hopper, though the man barely moved under the force of it.
"Hey!" Hopper growled, grabbing Mike by the collar and holding him back. His voice was firm but low, trying to keep the situation from escalating further. "Let's talk. Alone."
Without waiting for a response, Hopper and Mike hurried down the hallway, their muffled voices echoing off the walls as they moved out of sight. Dustin and Lucas exchanged glances before stepping forward, their faces lighting up as Eleven turned to them.
"We missed you," Lucas said, his voice filled with warmth.
"I missed you too," she replied, pulling both boys into a hug. Her expression softened, the tension melting away for a brief moment.
Dustin grinned as she pulled back, her hand reaching out to touch his face. "Teeth," she stated, her voice full of wonder. "You have teeth."
Dustin's grin widened, and he gave her a playful look. "Oh, you like these pearls?" He made that weird noise—half growl, half purr—that always left Dove cringing.
"How many times do I have to ask you not to do that?" Dove interjected, her tone playful but exasperated. Eleven's brow furrowed slightly as she looked at Dove, clearly confused.
"Oh, right," Dove said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. "I'm Dove, Dustin's sister. In the 24 hours since I learned you exist, I've heard all about you." Her smile was warm as she extended her hand.
Eleven hesitated for a moment before tentatively reaching out and giving Dove's hand a small shake, her grip delicate but present. "Hi," she said softly, her voice uncertain but genuine.
"Eleven?" Max's voice chimed in from behind. She stepped forward, her posture awkward as she fidgeted with her hands. "Hey. Um, I'm Max," she said, offering a tentative smile and holding out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you too."
Eleven's eyes flicked toward Max, but instead of taking her hand, she walked past her without a word, heading straight for Joyce. Max's smile faltered, her hand falling to her side. Joyce's face softened as Eleven approached, and she immediately pulled the girl into a comforting hug.
Dove exchanged a glance with Steve, both of them silently acknowledging the tension that had settled over the room. When Joyce and Eleven finally pulled apart, El's eyes were wide, full of quiet urgency. "Can I see him?" she asked softly.
Joyce nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She led Eleven into Will's room, where he lay unconscious on the bed.
Max, visibly shaken by the whole encounter, turned abruptly and rushed into the kitchen. Lucas made a move to follow, concern etched across his face, but Dove gently placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Let me," Dove said softly, giving Lucas a reassuring look.
Dove stepped into the kitchen, her footsteps soft against the worn linoleum. Max was standing at the counter, gripping its edge tightly, her knuckles pale against the laminate. Her head was bowed, her fiery hair creating a curtain that shielded her face.
Dove took a moment, leaning against the doorway, watching Max's shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths. She didn't jump in immediately, knowing better than to rush someone who was clearly wound up. Instead, she reached for the fridge, pulling out a can of soda.
"Want one?" Dove asked casually, her tone light as if they weren't standing in the middle of an apocalypse.
Max glanced over her shoulder, her expression sharp, defensive. "No. I'm fine."
Dove shrugged, cracking the can open and taking a sip. "Suit yourself." She leaned back against the counter, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel comfortable. "El seems intense," Dove said after a moment, her voice even, no hint of judgment. "Bet that felt.. weird."
Max let out a laugh, though it lacked any humor. "Weird? That's an understatement." She shook her head, her grip tightening on the counter. "She didn't even look at me. Just ignored me like I wasn't even there."
Dove nodded, setting the soda down on the counter. "Yeah, I noticed that. Looked like it stung."
Max turned to face her fully now, her arms crossing over her chest like armor. "I don't care," she said sharply, though the crack in her voice betrayed her. "Why would I care what she thinks?"
Dove studied her for a moment, her gaze soft but focused, as if trying to peer past the walls the younger girl had thrown up. Max's crossed arms, the way her eyes darted toward the doorway as if to make sure no one was listening, the edge in her voice—it all painted a picture. She didn't just feel dismissed by El; she felt out of place, like she didn't belong here at all.
"Max," Dove said gently, her voice steady as she stepped a little closer. "You belong here just as much as she does."
Max froze, her arms tightening across her chest. Her brow furrowed, and she glanced up at Dove, startled, as if Dove had just plucked the thought straight from her mind. "What?" Max said, her voice soft, almost defensive.
Dove offered a small smile, leaning against the counter to face her fully. "You heard me. You belong here, Max. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."
Max blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, her tone sharp but unconvincing. She looked away, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her hoodie.
"Really?" Dove tilted her head, her gaze never leaving Max. "Because I think you're feeling like you're not enough. Like no matter what you do, you're always going to be on the outside looking in."
Max opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her hoodie as she glanced at the floor. "It's not that simple," she said finally, her voice quieter now.
Dove waited, leaning back slightly, her expression calm but attentive, like she had all the time in the world.
Max shifted uncomfortably before letting out a sharp breath. "It's just.. I've felt like this for as long as I can remember," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Like no matter what I do, it's never enough. Not when my parents got divorced, not when my mom met Neil, and definitely not since we moved here."
Her cheeks flushed slightly as if admitting this out loud was something she rarely allowed herself to do. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her eyes darting to the floor. "My stepbrother, Billy, blames me for us moving here, like I had any say in it. And he.." She hesitated, her jaw tightening before she let out a bitter laugh. "He pretty much tortures me for it every chance he gets."
Dove froze, her whole body stiffening at the mention of Billy. The pieces clicked into place, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Billy was Max's brother. Max noticed Dove's sudden shift, her brow furrowing before a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Judging by that look on your face," Max said dryly, "I'm guessing you and Billy have met."
"Yeah," Dove admitted slowly, her voice carefully even. "We've.. crossed paths."
Max let out a small snort, the sound lacking any real amusement. "Sounds about right. He's got a talent for leaving an impression."
Dove studied Max for a moment, her expression softening. "I'm sure you already know this, having to live with him and all," she said carefully. "But Billy.. he's just a bully. Whatever he says to you, whatever he does, it's not about you. It's a reflection of him. No matter what he or anyone else says, you belong here. You've proven that."
Max glanced up at her, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "Proven it?" she echoed, her voice tinged with doubt.
Dove nodded firmly, her gaze steady. "Yeah. Look at everything you've done. You've stood your ground, even when things got dangerous. That takes guts, Max. More than most people have."
Max gave a small, almost shy smile, glancing at the floor. "Thanks, Dove," she muttered, her voice quieter now but sincere.
Dove returned the smile, reaching out to gently squeeze Max's shoulder but before either could say more, the sound of footsteps and low chatter filled the air as the others began filing into the kitchen. Max nudged Dove lightly, and the two of them moved to join the group.
Joyce sat at the table, her elbows resting on the surface as she anxiously rubbed her hands together. Everyone else was either standing or leaning against the walls, forming a loose circle around the table.
Dove found herself standing next to Steve. She glanced over at him and he was already looking at her. He offered a small smile, one that was almost reassuring.
But Dove just looked away, her jaw tightening slightly in annoyance. She focused her attention on Hopper and El as they entered the room, the tension in the air thickening with every second.
"Not happening," Hopper said firmly, his voice cutting through the murmurs as he moved to the head of the table.
"Only way," Eleven shot back, her tone equally firm. She stopped beside him, her chin lifting as her resolve hardened.
"It's not like it was before. It's grown. A lot." His voice was low and serious. "And, I mean, that's assuming we can even get into the lab. The place is crawling with those.. things."
"Demodogs," Dustin piped up.
Hopper paused, blinking as if just realizing the rest of them were standing there. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Demodogs," Dustin repeated. "Like Demogorgon and dogs—you put them together, it sounds pretty badass—"
"How is this important right now?" Hopper interrupted, his tone sharp.
Dustin shrank a little where he stood. "It's not.. I'm sorry." His eyes dropped to his hands, and the room went quiet again.
"I can do it," El spoke up, her voice steady. All eyes turned to her.
Hopper shook his head, frustration in his expression. "You're not hearing me."
"I'm hearing you," El insisted, her voice unwavering. "I can do it."
Before Hopper could respond, Mike jumped in. "Even if El can close the gate, there's still another problem." His voice trembled slightly. "If the brain dies, the body dies. And Will is part of that body. Closing the gate will kill him."
Dove leaned forward, her brow furrowing. "What if we can somehow get the Mind Flayer to leave Will alone?"
The room fell into a tense silence before Joyce suddenly stood, her eyes wide with realization as she rushed toward Will's room. The rest of the group shared weary glances before quickly following after her.
"He likes it cold. That's what Will kept saying." Joyce hurried to the window, slamming it shut. "We keep giving it what it wants."
Nancy's eyes lit up as a thought formed. "If this is a virus, and Will's the host.."
Jonathan finished her sentence, "Then we need to make the host uninhabitable."
"We need to burn it out of him," Joyce said, her voice thick with determination.
"But it can't be here," Mike added, his eyes fixed on Will's bed. "He knows this place. We need to do it somewhere he doesn't know."
"I know a place," Hopper said, stepping over to the bed and gently picking Will up. He gave Jonathan a quick nod and began barking directions as he carried the unconscious boy toward the car.
Steve, catching onto the plan, stepped forward. "There are some space heaters by the shed." He rushed outside, Nancy following close behind.
Dove moved to follow, but before she could step outside, Hopper re-entered the house and stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.
"No," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The rest of you need to stay here."
Dove frowned, her jaw tightening. "Hopper, we can help—"
"You already have," he interrupted, his voice softening but still firm. "The best thing you can do now is stay here and not get into any more trouble."
Dove hesitated, her heart pounding with frustration, but eventually, she gave a small nod. She knew Hopper was right, even if it stung.
Dove stepped out onto the porch with Steve, Lucas, Max, and Mike, their breaths visible in the cold night air. They watched silently as Jonathan's car, carrying Nancy, Joyce, and an unconscious Will, pulled away first, its taillights fading into the distance. A moment later, Hopper and Eleven followed in his truck, the sound of gravel crunching under the tires growing fainter until the world seemed to hold its breath.
The quiet that settled over them was oppressive, the kind of quiet that made every creak of the old porch seem magnified. Dove took a deep breath, her gaze lingering on the empty road. "Alright," she said finally, her voice cutting through the silence. "Everyone back inside."
The group began to move reluctantly, their steps slow as they filed back into the house. Dove lingered for a moment, her eyes scanning the dark horizon one last time before following them in. Once inside, the others started picking up the shattered glass scattered across the living room floor, the sound of crunching shards breaking the silence.
As Dove glanced around, she noticed someone was missing. "Where's Dustin?" she asked, her voice sharp with concern.
Steve, who was leaning his bat against the wall, frowned. "I thought he was right behind us."
The two exchanged a look before heading into the kitchen. As they entered, they froze at the sight before them. Dustin was standing in front of the open freezer, furiously tossing its contents onto the floor—bags of frozen vegetables, cartons of ice cream, even the shelves themselves clattering onto the linoleum.
"Dustin!" Dove exclaimed, stepping forward quickly. "What the hell are you doing?"
Dustin stopped for a moment, surveying the mess he'd made before glancing back at Dove. "Grab the Demodog," he said, his voice serious. "It should fit now."
Dove blinked, completely caught off guard by his words. "What?" she asked, her voice a mixture of disbelief and confusion.
Dustin gestured toward the freezer with a sharp nod, his eyes wide and serious. "Grab the Demodog. It should fit now," he repeated, his tone urgent, as if it were the most logical request in the world. "It's for science!" he added quickly.
Steve crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Okay, but counterpoint—what if we just, I don't know, don't put the monster corpse in the freezer?"
Dustin spun to face him, his expression indignant. "It's not a corpse, it's data! Evidence! Do you have any idea how valuable this could be to the scientific community?"
Steve let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No way. You're on your own, buddy. I draw the line at monster popsicles."
Dustin immediately shifted his gaze to Dove, his eyes wide and pleading, his signature puppy-dog look in full effect. Dove glanced at him briefly and sighed, exasperated. Dustin only pulled out his trump card when he was really desperate. Without even turning her head to fully look at her brother, she said flatly, "Steve, go get the Demodog."
"What?" Steve's voice shot up an octave, and he straightened from where he'd been leaning. "No! No way. Why do I have to do it?"
"Because," Dove replied, her tone leaving no room for argument, "if I don't let him put this thing in the freezer, he's going to mope about it for the next two weeks. And I cannot deal with that right now."
Steve groaned loudly, throwing his head back in exasperation. "This is ridiculous," he muttered as he stomped toward the living room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I'm not getting paid enough for this crap. Oh wait, I'm not getting paid at all."
Dove hid a small smirk as she heard Steve grumble his way into the next room. Moments later, there was a loud, wet thud, followed by Steve's disgusted muttering.
"Thank you, Steve," Dove called out, her voice dripping with mock gratitude.
"Yeah, yeah," he called back. When he reappeared in the doorway a minute later, he was holding the Demodog awkwardly in both hands, the creature wrapped haphazardly in a blanket. His face was twisted in a mix of disgust and disbelief as he held the bundle at arm's length. "A little help? Get the door," he said, grunting as he maneuvered the creature.
Dove hesitated but eventually surged forward, yanking the freezer door open with a bit more force than necessary. Steve crammed the Demodog inside, pushing until it barely fit. When the freezer door finally slammed shut, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the absurdity of the moment hanging in the air.
Steve straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans before turning his attention to Dove. "You owe me for this. Big time."
Dove didn't respond to his remark, her gaze flicking to his shoulder instead. "You've got slime on your jacket," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Steve's face twisted in disgust as he looked down, spotting a smear of greenish goop on his sleeve. "Oh, come on!" he groaned, "This is my favorite jacket!"
Dove smirked, grabbing a dish towel from the counter and tossing it at him. "It's a small price to pay for being the hero."
Steve caught the towel, narrowing his eyes playfully at Dove. "Yeah? Well, maybe I should start charging for my hero services. You seem pretty impressed."
"Heroes don't complain about monster goo," Dustin said, his voice dripping with mock authority. "Pretty sure that's, like, rule number one."
Steve turned to him, holding the towel like it was a weapon. "Rule number one is don't push your luck with the guy who just shoved a slime-covered monster into a freezer."
Dustin smirked, unfazed. "Rule number two: heroes don't cry about their jackets."
Steve shot him an exaggerated glare, but Dustin didn't notice as he moved toward the living room. "I'm making a mental note to ignore you the next time a monster lunges at your face." Steve called after him.
"Right," Dove smirked as she started picking up the frozen food Dustin had thrown on the floor, stacking it neatly on the counter. "Because your hero complex would totally let that happen."
Steve straightened, gripping the edge of the counter with mock offense. "Hero complex? I think you mean natural bravery."
"Natural bravery?" Dove raised an eyebrow, turning to face him. "Is that what you call diving into danger with zero plan other than hoping for the best?"
"Hey, the hoping for the best part is crucial," Steve shot back, his grin playful. "And let's not pretend you're any better. Remember your whole 'drawing them out bit' at the junkyard?"
Dove tilted her head, feigning thought. "I seem to remember you being right behind me."
Steve smirked, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, someone had to make sure you didn't get yourself killed."
"How noble of you, Steve," Dove said dryly, stacking the last of the frozen food on the counter. She turned to walk into the living room without sparing him another glance.
As she disappeared through the doorway, Steve called after her, his tone playful. "You're welcome, by the way!"
Dove didn't respond, but the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying the faintest hint of amusement as she entered the living room. Inside, Max and Lucas were just finishing up sweeping the shattered glass into a neat pile near the corner, their movements careful but efficient.
Mike was pacing back and forth across the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was tight with frustration, his steps quick and uneven as his mind churned with a thousand thoughts.
Dove took in the scene, her gaze flicking to each of them before she moved toward the couch and sank onto the edge of it. Steve followed closely behind her, pausing in the doorway to lean against the frame, the washcloth now thrown casually over his shoulder.
"Will you quit it already?" Lucas muttered, glancing up at Mike. His frustration was clear, but Mike barely acknowledged him, his eyes focused somewhere distant.
"You don't get it," Mike snapped, his voice sharper than intended. "You weren't in the lab. That place is crawling with Demodogs. They're everywhere."
Lucas straightened, setting the broom against the wall. "Hopper's there. He'll protect her, Mike." His tone was firm but reassuring.
Max muttered under her breath, "Like she needs protection."
Mike stopped pacing for a moment, casting a quick glance at Max. His face softened slightly, but the worry in his eyes remained.
Steve's expression shifted as he glanced around, sensing the unease in the room. "Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?"
"First of all, this isn't some stupid sports game," Mike shot back, his voice laced with frustration. "And second, we're not even in the game. We're on the bench."
Steve frowned, pausing for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Right.. So my point is," he said, trying to channel some semblance of authority, "we're on the bench, which means there's nothing we can do."
"That's not entirely true," Dustin interjected, stepping forward. "I mean, these Demodogs—they've got a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away."
Max's eyes lit up, the idea sparking excitement in her voice. "So, if we get their attention, maybe we can draw them away from the lab."
Dove considered the possibility, her mind racing, but before she could voice her thoughts, Steve immediately shut it down. "Yeah, and then we all die," he said, his tone flat, as if it were the only logical conclusion.
"That's one point of view," Dustin argued.
Steve turned to him, hands on his hips. "No, that's not a point of view, man. That's a fact."
Mike suddenly rushed past Steve, his eyes wide with determination as he pointed at one of the drawings taped to the wall. "This is where the Chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel." He hurried over to another drawing on the floor. "And this—this is like the hub. See how all the tunnels feed into here? If we set this on fire—"
"That's a no," Steve cut him off, but the kids continued to ignore him.
"The Mind Flayer would call away his army," Lucas chimed in.
"They'd all come to stop us," Dustin added, the pieces falling into place.
"Then we circle back to the exit," Mike said, the excitement building. "By the time they realize we're gone, El would already be at the gate."
"Hey! Hey!" Steve clapped loudly to get their attention, his voice rising with frustration. "This is not happening."
The kids started to protest, but Steve cut them off, his voice firm and unwavering. "No, no, no. I promised I'd keep you shitheads safe, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Dustin turned to Dove, his expression desperate. "Dove, please. This may be our only chance."
Dove's heart pounded as all eyes shifted to her. The room felt stifling, their trust and hope weighing heavily on her shoulders. She wanted to act, to believe there was a way to fight back instead of waiting helplessly, but the risks loomed too large. Her gaze flicked to Steve, standing firm and resolute, then to her brother, whose wide eyes brimmed with urgency.
Her throat tightened, her decision settling like a stone in her stomach. "I'm sorry, Dustin," she said softly, her voice steady but pained. "The best way to keep you all safe is to hang tight. We're staying here."
The room went silent, the weight of her words pressing down on all of them. Dustin's face fell, disappointment flashing in his eyes, but he didn't argue.
Steve gave her a small nod, his expression serious as he crossed his arms, his voice firmer this time. "We are waiting on the bench for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand that?"
Mike scowled, his frustration boiling over. "This isn't some stupid sports game!"
"Does everybody understand that?" Steve shot back, his eyes sweeping the room. "I need a yes."
The silence in the room was deafening, tension thick in the air. Before anyone could respond, a distant rumble cut through the quiet—a low, growling engine that grew louder with each passing second. Everyone froze, the noise outside pulling their attention like a magnet.
Dove exchanged a glance with Max, a sinking feeling settling deep in her stomach. Without a word, they moved toward the window, Max just behind her. Dove pulled the curtain back slightly, her pulse quickening as her gaze landed on the vehicle pulling into the driveway.
Parked outside, its sleek, polished surface glinting ominously in the fading light, was Billy's car.
A cold wave of fear washed over Dove, freezing her in place. Her breath caught in her throat as memories surged to the surface—his taunts, his smirk, the way his presence seemed to suffocate every room he entered. Her pulse thundered in her ears as her grip tightened on the edge of the window frame.
Max stepped closer, her voice a hushed whisper. "Dove, what do we do?"
Dove glanced at Max, seeing the anxiety in her eyes, the fear she was trying so hard to mask. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to push down her own panic. She couldn't let Billy take control of the moment—not again. Not when so much was at stake.
"Stay back from the windows," Dove said quietly, her voice steadier than the chaos swirling inside her. She turned to look at the others, her gaze sharp. "All of you."
Steve stepped up beside her, his expression darkening as he peered out the window. "What's he doing here?" he muttered, his voice low but laced with irritation.
Dove didn't answer right away, her eyes fixed on the car. It sat there like a predator waiting to pounce, the engine now idling in an almost mocking rhythm. "He's looking for Max," she said finally, her voice grim.
The group tensed, a heavy silence settling over them as they waited for what would come next.